Still, Claire noticed everything.
If I skipped lunch, she’d quietly shove a granola bar toward me without mentioning it. If I sounded tired on the phone, she’d ask questions until I admitted what was wrong.
Even when criticizing Ryan, she’d still ask, “Have you eaten anything besides cake samples today?” like concern and annoyance lived stitched together inside her.
That was Claire.
She could make you feel attacked and protected at the exact same time.
The first time she met Ryan was Christmas dinner. He arrived carrying wine for my father, flowers for my mother, and that smooth smile that made people trust him before he even finished introducing himself.
My parents adored him instantly.
Then Claire walked in from the kitchen and froze.
Ryan looked up.
And for one long, strange second, they simply stared at each other.
Neither spoke.
The silence around the table felt unnatural, heavy somehow.